Page 30 of The Professor's Wife

Something inside me ignited as I stared into his blue eyes. My body tightened, every nerve pulled taut, as though I had been lifted out of myself and suspended above us both.

It was euphoria threaded with something strange and almost painful.

If a moment could take physical form, it would feel like being stitched to him, fiber by fiber.

Tristan came with me, his groans long and deep. I watched him come apart, my mouth hungry to swallow the sounds he made.

So I did.

I pressed my lips to his, catching his bottom lip as pleasure moved through him.

His body shook. His hands clutched my hip and tangled in my hair. Sweat coated our skin, and even when the pleasure faded and he lay over me, his touch gentler now, I felt him beginning to harden again.

When he said he wanted me all night, I suddenly believed him.

For a while, neither of us moved.

Then Tristan reached for the nightstand, taking stock of what remained.

I followed his gaze. “How many condoms do you have?”

“Two.”

My brow rose. “Only two?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I was promised all night.”

His mouth pulled into a grin. “I’m resourceful.”

He rolled onto his back beside me.

I pulled the ruined bedspread over part of myself and looked down at the enormous orange flowers splashed across it.

“At least these ugly things survived us.”

Tristan followed my gaze. “What’s ugly?”

“The orange flowers.”

He went still. “Orange is ugly?”

“It absolutely is.”

“That’s because you haven’t seen it properly.”

I turned my head toward him. “You’re serious?”

“I am.”

“You look so offended.”

“You were perfect up until a second ago.”

I laughed. “If I’m so wrong, tell me something orange and beautiful.”

His response was quick. “You’ve never watched leaves turn in the fall? That deep, burning orange right before they let go?”